


Interrogation

by Alexa_Piper



Series: Old tumblr shots [9]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Gen, backdated fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27222742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexa_Piper/pseuds/Alexa_Piper
Summary: Maybe Fenton was right to keep the whole Phantom thing a secret after all.
Series: Old tumblr shots [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987381
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Interrogation

It was stupidly cliché, if he really thought about it. Wes tried to look bored – not that it was hard, he’d been here so long that his legs had gone numb – and leaned back in the chair, idly kicking his feet to try to get some feeling back into his toes. The halogen lights in the white ceiling were bright enough to hurt his eyes, but he pushed past the discomfort so that he could give the camera in the corner of the ceiling his best unimpressed stare.

When that didn’t get a response, he switched back to that two-way mirror in the wall across from him – the lights really did make his eyes water too much to continue looking above. Wes’ reflection was washed-out by the artificial glare, face pale with sharp shadows cutting past his chin and wrapping around his eyes. Stark across his forehead was a bloody gash that had dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks. They hadn’t done anything to treat the injury, and Wes had been left to watch it bleed sluggishly with no indication of fully stopping. Blood had run over his jaw and down his neck, staining his good basketball jersey red. As if he had the money to replace it. Out of everything that they’d done to him, ruining his shirt was probably the most frustrating.

This entire situation was ridiculous. They had taken all sorts of samples as soon as he was in their custody, and Wes knew that there wouldn’t be a single trace of ectoplasm in any of it. Blood, hair, skin, saliva… They had taken all sorts of things, some which he cringed to think of, and then they’d dumped him in this plain white room and left him alone for what must have been _hours._

With those samples, they must already know that he wasn’t who they were looking for, so why were they keeping him here?

His stomach growled.

“I’m hungry,” Wes grumbled, rolling his shoulders with what limited movement he had. The cuffs holding his wrists together behind him dug into his skin, and he scowled. “Ghosts don’t get hungry, so I’m definitely _not_ Phantom.”

“We have footage of Phantom eating pizza.”

He glared at the camera again, before squinting around in search of the speaker. Wes couldn’t see anything, so it must have been somewhere in the ceiling or wall behind him. The voice had been scrambled, its intonations wrong and the syllables drawing themselves into static.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a ghost.”

“Your peers would suggest otherwise.”

Wes snorted. “Just because Dash and his stupid friends think my hair looks like Phantom’s doesn’t mean anything.”

“Your eyes are the same colour.”

Wes tugged against his cuffs with a grunt, anger sweeping through him. “What the hell am I supposed to do about that?!” he shouted, trying to stand up. His arms were yanked back where the cuffs looped through the chair, and all Wes succeeded in doing was jerking forwards so that he almost fell flat on his face, furniture included.

The speakers remained silent, and Wes gave an exaggerated sigh. “Look, we both know that you guys know I’m human. If I miss the basketball match tonight because you jerks dragged me out here there’s no way that I’ll tell you where to find Phantom.”

The silence didn’t last for more than thirty seconds before the door in an otherwise featureless white wall swung open. Two men in white suits walked into the room, eyes shielded from the fluorescent lights by dark glasses. They stood before him, an impenetrable wall of square shoulders and broad chests, and the sigh was enough to disquiet the teen.

One of them leaned close, yanking on the collar of Wes’ basketball jersey. His breath washed over Wes in a sour wave, reeking of old coffee. “Where is Phantom?”

Wes coughed, jerking backwards and trying to breathe. “Tic tacs, man,” he groaned. “They’re a thing, y’know?”

A low growl was his only reply, and Wes felt more intimidated than he had since the day he met the half-ghost mayor. Something whispered that nobody knew he was here, and that these adults could seriously hurt him.

He could disappear, and nobody would ever know where to look.

“Alright,” he croaked, trying to ignore the sudden sense of foreboding that clamped down on any snarky comments. “Here’s the deal – you let me out, and I’ll lead to straight to him.”

Another yank on his jersey. Wes thought he heard a few stitches pop, and irritation flashed through his thoughts.

“You’ll just run.”

“You made me piss into a cup in front of a dozen scientists,” he snapped. “If showing you where Phantom is means that it’ll never happen again, then I’ll take you _to his house_.”

He already felt bad about this, but maybe he could warn Fenton before they actually caught the guy. After what they’d done to him, Wes could only begin to guess what they’d do to an _actual_ ghost-person-thing. And besides, Fentonworks was built like a fort – fingerprint scanners had recently appeared on the doors, the place bristled with cameras, and stray cats were constantly setting alarms wailing in the middle of the night. Whatever came his way, Wes was pretty sure that Fenton could handle it.

The cut on his forehead stung, another slow drop of blood leaking down Wes’ eyebrow and threatening to drip into his eye. The man finally released his collar, and through the sunglasses Wes could just make out cold eyes above that predatory smile.

“Excellent,” the man purred. “You give us Phantom, and you’ll be richly rewarded.”

Wes didn’t trust that comment, but held his tongue and leaned forwards so that the agents could unlock the cuffs around his wrists. They weren’t exactly gentle in doing so, and for a moment he wondered how long they would have left him in the room if he didn’t make that deal. They seemed like the kind of people who didn’t really _do_ compromises…

Once the cuffs were gone, one of the agents clapped a hand on his shoulder. His smile was joyless, and Wes felt more threatened than if his expression had been antagonistic. “Now, boy, you keep your end of the deal. If you don’t, you’ll be back here, and next time we won’t be so friendly.”

Wes nodded, trying to look meek as the blood slipped into one eye. He blinked it away as they led him out of that cold white room, and a small pang of relief penetrated his stress. He was finally out of there, and would do everything he could to never go back.

Maybe Fenton was right to keep the whole Phantom thing a secret after all.


End file.
